"And sell tin?" asked Polly, "just like Mr. Slocum?"

"Yes," said Joel; "this is the way I'd go—Gee-whop! gee-whoa!" and Joel pranced with his imaginary steeds all around the room, making about as much noise as any other four boys, as he brought up occasionally against the four-poster or the high old bureau.

"Well!" said a voice close up by Polly's chair, that made her skip with apprehension, it was so like Miss Jerusha Henderson's—Joel was whooping away behind the bedstead to his horses that had become seriously entangled, so he didn't hear anything. But when Polly said, bashfully, "I can't see anything, ma'am," he came up red and shining to the surface, and stared with all his might.

"I came to see you, little girl," said Miss Jerusha severely, seating herself stiffly by Polly's side.

"Thank you, ma'am," said Polly, faintly.

"Who's this boy?" asked the lady, turning around squarely on Joel, and eying him from head to foot.

"He's my brother Joel," said Polly.

Joel still stared.

"Which brother?" pursued Miss Jerusha, like a census-taker.

"He is next to me," said Polly, wishing her mother was home; "he's nine, Joel is."

"He's big enough to do something to help his mother," said Miss Jerusha, looking him through and through. "Don't you think you might do something, when the others are sick, and your poor mother is working so hard?" she continued, in a cold voice.

"I do something," blurted out Joel, sturdily, "lots and lots!"

"You shouldn't say 'lots," reproved Miss Jerusha, with a sharp look over her spectacles, "tisn't proper for boys to talk so; what do you do all day long?" she asked, turning back to Polly, after a withering glance at Joel, who still stared.

"I can't do anything, ma'am," replied Polly, sadly, "I can't see to do anything."

"Well, you might knit, I should think," said her visitor, "it's dreadful for a girl as big as you are to sit all day idle; I had sore eyes once when I was a little girl—how old are you?" she asked, abruptly.

"Eleven last month," said Polly.

"Well, I wasn't only nine when I knit a stocking; and I had sore eyes, too; you see I was a very little girl, and—"

"Was you ever little?" interrupted Joel, in extreme incredulity, drawing near, and looking over the big square figure.

"Hey?" said Miss Jerusha; so Joel repeated his question before Polly could stop him.

"Of course," answered Miss Jerusha; and then she added, tartly, "little boys shouldn't speak unless they're spoken to. Now," and she turned back to Polly again, "didn't you ever knit a stocking?"

"No, ma'am," said Polly, "not a whole one."

"Dear me!" exclaimed Miss Jerusha; "did I ever!" And she raised her black mitts in intense disdain. "A big girl like you never to knit a stocking! to think your mother should bring you up so! and—"

"She didn't bring us up," screamed Joel, in indignation, facing her with blazing eyes.

"Joel," said Polly, "be still."

"And you're very impertinent, too," said Miss Jerusha; "a good child never is impertinent."

Polly sat quite still; and Miss Jerusha continued:

"Now, I hope you will learn to be industrious; and when I come again, I will see what you have done."

"You aren't ever coming again," said Joel, defiantly; "no, never!"

"Joel!" implored Polly, and in her distress she pulled up her bandage as she looked at him; "you know mammy'll be so sorry at you! Oh, ma'am, and" she turned to Miss Jerusha, who was now thoroughly aroused to the duty she saw before her of doing these children good, "I don't know what is the reason, ma'am; Joel never talks so; he's real good; and—"

"It only shows," said the lady, seeing her way quite clear for a little exhortation, "that you've all had your own way from infancy; and that you don't do what you might to make your mother's life a happy one."

"Oh, ma'am," cried Polly, and she burst into a flood of tears, "please, please don't say that!"

"And I say," screamed Joel, stamping his small foot, "if you make Polly cry you'll kill her! Don't Polly, don't!" and the boy put both arms around her neck, and soothed and comforted her in every way he could think of. And Miss Jerusha, seeing no way to make herself heard, disappeared feeling pity for children who would turn away from good advice.

But still Polly cried on; all the pent-up feelings that had been so long controlled had free vent now. She really couldn't stop! Joel, frightened to death, at last said, "I'm going to wake up Ben."

That brought Polly to; and she sobbed out, "Oh, no, Jo—ey—I'll stop."

"I will," said Joel, seeing his advantage; "I'm going, Polly," and he started to the foot of the stairs.

"No, I'm done now, Joe," said Polly, wiping her eyes, and choking back her thoughts—"oh, Joe! I must scream! my eyes aches so!" and poor Polly fairly writhed all over the chair.

"What'll I do?" said Joel, at his wits' end, running back, "do you want some water?"

"Oh, no," gasped Polly; "doctor wouldn't let me; oh! I wish mammy'd come!"

"I'll go and look for her," suggested Joel, feeling as if he must do something; and he'd rather be out at the gate, than to see Polly suffer.

"That won't bring her," said Polly; trying to keep still; "I'll try to wait."

"Here she is now!" cried Joel, peeping out of the window; "oh! goody!"



JOEL'S TURN

"Well," Mrs. Pepper's tone was unusually blithe as she stepped into the kitchen—"you've had a nice time, I suppose—what in the world!" and she stopped at the bedroom door.

"Oh, mammy, if you'd been here!" said Joel, while Polly sat still, only holding on to her eyes as if they were going to fly out; "there's been a big woman here; she came right in—and she talked awfully! and Polly's been a-cryin', and her eyes ache dreadfully—and—"

"Been crying!" repeated Mrs. Pepper, coming up to poor Polly. "Polly been crying!" she still repeated.

"Oh, mammy, I couldn't help it," said Polly; "she said—" and in spite of all she could do, the rain of tears began again, which bade fair to be as uncontrolled as before. But Mrs. Pepper took her up firmly in her arms, as if she were Phronsie, and sat down in the old rocking-chair and just patted her back.

"There, there," she whispered, soothingly, "don't think of it, Polly; mother's got home."

"Oh, mammy," said Polly, crawling up to the comfortable neck for protection, "I ought not to mind; but 'twas Miss Jerusha Henderson; and she said—"

"What did she say?" asked Mrs. Pepper, thinking perhaps it to be the wiser thing to let Polly free her mind.

"Oh, she said that we ought to be doing something; and I ought to knit, and—"

"Go on," said her mother.

"And then Joel got naughty; oh, mammy, he never did so before; and I couldn't stop him," cried Polly, in great distress; "I really couldn't, mammy—and he talked to her; and he told her she wasn't ever coming here again."

"Joel shouldn't have said that," said Mrs. Pepper, and under her breath something was added that Polly even failed to hear—"but no more she isn't!"

"And, mammy," cried Polly—and she flung her arms around her mother's neck and gave her a grasp that nearly choked Mrs. Pepper, "ain't I helpin' you some, mammy? Oh! I wish I could do something big for you? Ain't you happy, mammy?"

"For the land's sakes!" cried Mrs. Pepper, straining Polly to her heart, "whatever has that woman—whatever could she have said to you? Such a girl as you are, too!" cried Mrs. Pepper, hugging Polly, and covering her with kisses so tender, that Polly, warmed and cuddled up to her heart's content, was comforted to the full.

"Well," said Mrs. Pepper, when at last she thought she had formed between Polly and Joel about the right idea of the visit, "well, now we won't think of it, ever any more; 'tisn't worth it, Polly, you know."

But poor Polly! and poor mother! They both were obliged to think of it. Nothing could avert the suffering of the next few days, caused by that long flow of burning tears.

"Nothing feels good on 'em, mammy," said Polly, at last, twisting her hands in the vain attempt to keep from rubbing the aching, inflamed eyes that drove her nearly wild with their itching, "there isn't any use in trying anything."

"There will be use," energetically protested Mrs. Pepper, bringing another cool bandage, "as long as you've got an eye in your head, Polly Pepper!"

Dr. Fisher's face, when he first saw the change that the fateful visit had wrought, and heard the accounts, was very grave indeed. Everything had been so encouraging on his last visit, that he had come very near promising Polly speedy freedom from the hateful bandage.

But the little Pepper household soon had something else to think of more important even than Polly's eyes, for now the heartiest, the jolliest of all the little group was down—Joel. How he fell sick, they scarcely knew, it all came so suddenly. The poor, bewildered family had hardly time to think, before delirium and, perhaps, death stared them in the face.

When Polly first heard it, by Phronsie's pattering downstairs and screaming: "Oh, Polly, Joey's dre-ad-ful sick, he is!" she jumped right up, and tore off the bandage.

"Now, I will help mother! I will, so there!" and in another minute she would have been up in the sick room. But the first thing she knew, a gentle but firm hand was laid upon hers; and she found herself back again in the old rocking-chair, and listening to the Doctor's words which were quite stern and decisive.

"Now, I tell you," he said, "you must not take off that bandage again; do you know the consequences? You will be blind! and then you will be a care to your mother all your life!"

"I shall be blind, anyway," said Polly, despairingly; "so 'twon't make any difference."

"No; your eyes will come out of it all right, only I did hope," and the good doctor's face fell—"that the other two boys would escape; but," and he brightened up at sight of Polly's forlorn visage—"see you do your part by keeping still."

But there came a day soon when everything was still around the once happy little brown house—when only whispers were heard from white lips; and thoughts were fearfully left unuttered.

On the morning of one of these days, when Mrs. Pepper felt she could not exist an hour longer without sleep, kind Mrs. Beebe came to stay until things were either better or worse.

Still the cloud hovered, dark and forbidding. At last, one afternoon, when Polly was all alone, she could endure it no longer. She flung herself down by the side of the old bed, and buried her face in the gay patched bed-quilt.

"Dear God," she said, "make me willing to have anything," she hesitated—"yes, anything happen; to be blind forever, and to have Joey sick, only make me good."

How long she staid there she never knew; for she fell asleep—the first sleep she had had since Joey was taken sick. And little Mrs. Beebe coming in found her thus.

"Polly," the good woman said, leaning over her, "you poor, pretty creeter, you; I'm goin' to tell you somethin'—there, there, just to think! Joel's goin' to get well!"

"Oh, Mrs. Beebe!" cried Polly, tumbling over in a heap on the floor, her face, as much as could be seen under the bandage, in a perfect glow, "Is he, really?"

"Yes, to be sure; the danger's all over now," said the little old lady, inwardly thinking—"If I hadn't a-come!"

"Well, then, the Lord wants him to," cried Polly, in rapture; "don't he, Mrs. Beebe?"

"To be sure—to be sure," repeated the kind friend, only half understanding.

"Well, I don't care about my eyes, then," cried Polly; and to Mrs. Beebe's intense astonishment and dismay, she spun round and round in the middle of the floor.

"Oh, Polly, Polly!" the little old lady cried, running up to her, "do stop! the doctor wouldn't let you! he wouldn't really, you know! it'll all go to your eyes."

"I don't care," repeated Polly, in the middle of a spin; but she stopped obediently; "seems as if I just as soon be blind as not; it's so beautiful Joey's going to get well!"



SUNSHINE AGAIN

But as Joel was smitten down suddenly, so he came up quickly, and his hearty nature asserted itself by rapid strides toward returning health; and one morning he astonished them all by turning over suddenly and exclaiming:

"I want something to eat!"

"Bless the Lord!" cried Mrs. Pepper, "now he's going to live!"

"But he mustn't eat," protested Mrs. Beebe, in great alarm, trotting for the cup of gruel. "Here, you pretty creeter you, here's something nice." And she temptingly held the spoon over Joel's mouth; but with a grimace he turned away.

"Oh, I want something to eat! some gingerbread or some bread and butter."

"Dear me!" ejaculated Mrs. Beebe. "Gingerbread!" Poor Mrs. Pepper saw the hardest part of her trouble now before her, as she realized that the returning appetite must be fed only on strengthening food; for where it was to come from she couldn't tell.

"The Lord only knows where we'll get it," she groaned within herself.

Yes, He knew. A rap at the door, and little David ran down to find the cause.

"Oh, mammy," he said, "Mrs. Henderson sent it—see! see!" And in the greatest excitement he placed in her lap a basket that smelt savory and nice even before it was opened. When it was opened, there lay a little bird delicately roasted, and folded in a clean napkin; also a glass of jelly, crimson and clear.

"Oh, Joey," cried Mrs. Pepper, almost overwhelmed with joy, "see what Mrs. Henderson sent you! now you can eat fit for a king!"

That little bird certainly performed its mission in life; for as Mrs. Beebe said, "It just touched the spot!" and from that very moment Joel improved so rapidly they could hardly believe their eyes.

"Hoh! I haven't been sick!" he cried on the third day, true to his nature. "Mammy, I want to get up."

"Oh, dear, no! you mustn't, Joel," cried Mrs. Pepper in a fright, running up to him as he was preparing to give the bedclothes a lusty kick; "you'll send 'em in."

"Send what in?" asked Joel, looking up at his mother in terror, as the dreadful thought made him pause.

"Why, the measles, Joey; they'll all go in if you get out."

"How they goin' to get in again, I'd like to know?" asked Joel, looking at the little red spots on his hands in incredulity; say, ma!

"Well, they will," said his mother, "as you'll find to your sorrow if you get out of bed."

"Oh, dear," said Joel, beginning to whimper, as he drew into bed again, "when can I get up, mammy!"

"Oh, in a day or two," responded Mrs. Pepper, cheerfully; "you're getting on so finely you'll be as smart as a cricket! Shouldn't you say he might get up in a day or two, Mrs. Beebe?" she appealed to that individual who was knitting away cheerily in the corner.

"Well, if he keeps on as he's begun, I shouldn't know what to think," replied Mrs. Beebe. "It beats all how quick he's picked up. I never see anything like it, I'm sure!"

And as Mrs. Beebe was a great authority in sickness, the old, sunny cheeriness began to creep into the brown house once more, and to bubble over as of yore.

"Seems as if 'twas just good to live," said Mrs. Pepper, thankfully once, when her thoughts were too much for her. "I don't believe I shall ever care how poor we are," she continued, "as long as we're together."

"And that's just what the Lord meant, maybe," replied good Mrs. Beebe, who was preparing to go home.

Joel kept the house in a perfect uproar all through his getting well. Mrs. Pepper observed one day, when he had been more turbulent than usual, that she was "almost worn to a thread."

"Twasn't anything to take care of you, Joe," she added, "when you were real sick, because then I knew where you were; but—well, you won't ever have the measles again, I s'pose, and that's some comfort!"

Little David, who had been nearly stunned by the sickness that had laid aside his almost constant companion, could express his satisfaction and joy in no other way than by running every third minute and begging to do something for him. And Joel, who loved dearly to be waited on, improved every opportunity that offered; which Mrs. Pepper observing, soon put a stop to.

"You'll run his legs off, Joel," at last she said, when he sent David the third time down to the wood-pile for a stick of just the exact thickness, and which the little messenger declared wasn't to be found. "Haven't you any mercy? You've kept him going all day, too," she added, glancing at David's pale face.

"Oh, mammy," panted David, "don't; I love to go. Here Joe, is the best I could find," handing him a nice smooth stick.

"I know you do," said his mother; "but Joe's getting better now, and he must learn to spare you."

"I don't want to spare folks," grumbled Joel, whittling away with energy; "I've been sick—real sick," he added, lifting his chubby face to his mother to impress the fact.

"I know you have," she cried, running to kiss her boy; "but now, Joe, you're most well. To-morrow I'm going to let you go down-stairs; what do you think of that!"

"Hooray!" screamed Joel, throwing away the stick and clapping his hands, forgetting all about his serious illness, "that'll be prime!"

"Aren't you too sick to go, Joey?" asked Mrs. Pepper, mischievously.

"No, I'm not sick," cried Joel, in the greatest alarm, fearful his mother meant to take back the promise; "I've never been sick. Oh, mammy! you know you'll let me go, won't your?"

"I guess so," laughed his mother.

"Come on, Phron," cried Joel, giving her a whirl.

David, who was too tired for active sport, sat on the floor and watched them frolic in great delight.

"Mammy," said he, edging up to her side as the sport went on, "do you know, I think it's just good—it's—oh, it's so frisky since Joe got well, isn't it, mammy?"

"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Pepper, giving him a radiant look in return for his; "and when Polly's around again with her two eyes all right—well, I don't know what we shall do, I declare!"

"Boo!" cried a voice, next morning, close to Polly's elbow, unmistakably Joel's.

"Oh, Joel Pepper!" she cried, whirling around, "is that really you!"

"Yes," cried that individual, confidently, "it's I; oh, I say, Polly, I've had fun up-stairs, I tell you what!"

"Poor boy!" said Polly, compassionately.

"I wasn't a poor boy," cried Joel, indignantly; "I had splendid things to eat; oh, my!" and he closed one eye and smacked his lips in the delightful memory.

"I know it," said Polly, "and I'm so glad, Joel."

"I don't suppose I'll ever get so many again," observed Joel, reflectively, after a minute's pause, as one and another of the wondrous delicacies rose before his mind's eye; "not unless I have the measles again—say, Polly, can't I have 'em again?"

"Mercy, no!" cried Polly, in intense alarm, "I hope not."

"Well, I don't," said Joel, "I wish I could have 'em sixty—no—two hundred times, so there!"

"Well, mammy couldn't take care of you," said Ben; "you don't know what you're sayin', Joe."

"Well, then, I wish I could have the things without the measles," said Joel, willing to accommodate; "only folks won't send 'em," he added, in an injured tone.

"Polly's had the hardest time of all," said her mother, affectionately patting the bandage.

"I think so too," put in Ben; "if my eyes were hurt I'd give up."

"So would I," said David; and Joel, to be in the fashion, cried also, "I know I would;" while little Phronsie squeezed up to Polly's side, "And I, too."

"Would what, Puss?" asked Ben, tossing her up high. "Have good things," cried the child, in delight at understanding the others, "I would really, Ben," she cried, gravely, when they all screamed.

"Well, I hope so," said Ben, tossing her higher yet. "Don't laugh at her, boys," put in Polly; "we're all going to have good times now, Phronsie, now we've got well."

"Yes," laughed the child from her high perch; "we aren't ever goin' to be sick again, ever—any more," she added impressively.

The good times were coming for Polly—coming pretty near, and she didn't know it! All the children were in the secret; for as Mrs. Pepper declared, "They'd have to know it; and if they were let into the secret they'd keep it better."

So they had individually and collectively been intrusted with the precious secret, and charged with the extreme importance of "never letting any one know," and they had been nearly bursting ever since with the wild desire to impart their knowledge.

"I'm afraid I shall tell," said David, running to his mother at last; "oh, mammy, I don't dare stay near Polly, I do want to tell so bad."

"Oh, no, you won't, David," said his mother encouragingly, "when you know mother don't want you to; and besides, think how Polly'll look when she sees it."

"I know," cried David in the greatest rapture, "I wouldn't tell for all the world! I guess she'll look nice, don't you mother?" and he laughed in glee at the thought.

"Poor child! I guess she will!" and then Mrs. Pepper laughed too, till the little old kitchen rang with delight at the accustomed sound.

The children all had to play "clap in and clap out" in the bedroom while it came; and "stage coach," too—"anything to make a noise," Ben said. And then after they got nicely started in the game, he would be missing to help about the mysterious thing in the kitchen, which was safe since Polly couldn't see him go on account of her bandage. So she didn't suspect in the least. And although the rest were almost dying to be out in the kitchen, they conscientiously stuck to their bargain to keep Polly occupied. Only Joel would open the door and peep once; and then Phronsie behind him began. "Oh, I see the sto——" but David swooped down on her in a twinkling, and smothered the rest by tickling her.

Once they came very near having the whole thing pop out. "Whatever is that noise in the kitchen?" asked Polly, as they all stopped to take breath after the scuffle of "stage coach." "It sounds just like grating."

"I'll go and see," cried Joel, promptly; and then he flew out where his mother and Ben and two men were at work on a big, black thing in the corner. The old stove, strange to say, was nowhere to be seen! Something else stood in its place, a shiny, black affair, with a generous supply of oven doors, and altogether such a comfortable, home-like look about it, as if it would say—"I'm going to make sunshine in this house!"

"Oh, Joel," cried his mother, turning around on him with very black hands, "you haven't told!"

"No," said Joel, "but she's hearin' the noise, Polly is."

"Hush!" said Ben, to one of the men.

"We can't put it up without some noise," the man replied, "but we'll be as still as we can."

"Isn't it a big one, ma?" asked Joel, in the loudest of stage whispers, that Polly on the other side of the door couldn't have failed to hear if Phronsie hadn't laughed just then.

"Go back, Joe, do," said Ben, "play tag—anything," he implored, "we'll be through in a few minutes."

"It takes forever!" said Joel, disappearing within the bedroom door. Luckily for the secret, Phronsie just then ran a pin sticking up on the arm of the old chair, into her finger; and Polly, while comforting her, forgot to question Joel. And then the mother came in, and though she had ill-concealed hilarity in her voice, she kept chattering and bustling around with Polly's supper to such an extent that there was no chance for a word to be got in.

Next morning it seemed as if the "little brown house," would turn inside out with joy.

"Oh, mammy!" cried Polly, jumping into her arms the first thing, as Dr. Fisher untied the bandage, "my eyes are new! just the same as if I'd just got 'em! Don't they look different?" she asked, earnestly, running to the cracked glass to see for herself.

"No," said Ben, "I hope not; the same brown ones, Polly."

"Well," said Polly, hugging first one and then another, "everybody looks different through them, anyway."

"Oh," cried Joel, "come out into the kitchen, Polly; it's a great deal better out there."

"May I?" asked Polly, who was in such a twitter looking at everything that she didn't know which way to turn.

"Yes," said the doctor, smiling at her.

"Well, then," sang Polly, "come mammy, we'll go first; isn't it just lovely—oh, MAMMY!" and Polly turned so very pale, and looked as if she were going to tumble right over, that Mrs. Pepper grasped her arm in dismay.

"What is it?" she asked, pointing to the corner, while all the children stood round in the greatest excitement.

"Why," cried Phronsie, "it's a stove—don't you know, Polly?" But Polly gave one plunge across the room, and before anybody could think, she was down on her knees with her arms flung right around the big, black thing, and laughing and crying over it, all in the same breath!

And then they all took hold of hands and danced around it like wild little things; while Dr. Fisher stole out silently—and Mrs. Pepper laughed till she wiped her eyes to see them go.

"We aren't ever goin' to have any more burnt bread," sang Polly, all out of breath.

"Nor your back isn't goin' to break any more," panted Ben, with a very red face.

"Hooray!" screamed Joel and David, to fill any pause that might occur, while Phronsie gurgled and laughed at everything just as it came along. And then they all danced and capered again; all but Polly, who was down before the precious stove examining and exploring into ovens and everything that belonged to it.

"Oh, ma," she announced, coming up to Mrs. Pepper, who had been obliged to fly to her sewing again, and exhibiting a very crocky face and a pair of extremely smutty hands, "it's most all ovens, and it's just splendid!"

"I know it," answered her mother, delighted in the joy of her child. "My! how black you are, Polly!"

"Oh, I wish," cried Polly, as the thought struck her, "that Dr. Fisher could see it! Where did he go to, ma?"

"I guess Dr. Fisher has seen it before," said Mrs. Pepper, and then she began to laugh. "You haven't ever asked where the stove came from, Polly."

And to be sure, Polly had been so overwhelmed that if the stove had really dropped from the clouds it would have been small matter of astonishment to her, as long as it had come; that was the main thing!

"Mammy," said Polly, turning around slowly, with the stove-lifter in her hand, "did Dr. Fisher bring that stove?"

"He didn't exactly bring it," answered her mother, "but I guess he knew something about it."

"Oh, he's the splendidest, goodest man!" cried Polly, "that ever breathed! Did he really get us that stove?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Pepper, "he would; I couldn't stop him. I don't know how he found out you wanted one so bad; but he said it must be kept as a surprise when your eyes got well."

"And he saved my eyes!" cried Polly, full of gratitude. "I've got a stove and two new eyes, mammy, just to think!"

"We ought to be good after all our mercies," said Mrs. Pepper thankfully, looking around on her little group. Joel was engaged in the pleasing occupation of seeing how far he could run his head into the biggest oven, and then pulling it out to exhibit its blackness, thus engrossing the others in a perfect hubbub.

"I'm going to bake my doctor some little cakes," declared Polly, when there was comparative quiet.

"Do, Polly," cried Joel, "and then leave one or two over."

"No," said Polly; "we can't have any, because these must be very nice. Mammy, can't I have some white on top, just once?" she pleaded.

"I don't know," dubiously replied Mrs. Pepper; "eggs are dreadful dear, and—"

"I don't care," said Polly, recklessly; "I must just once for Dr. Fisher."

"I tell you, Polly," said Mrs. Pepper, "what you might do; you might make him some little apple tarts—most every one likes them, you know."

"Well," said Polly, with a sigh, "I s'pose they'll have to do; but some time, mammy, I'm going to bake him a big cake, so there!"



A THREATENED BLOW

One day, a few weeks after, Mrs. Pepper and Polly were busy in the kitchen. Phronsie was out in the "orchard," as the one scraggy apple-tree was called by courtesy, singing her rag doll to sleep under its sheltering branches. But "Baby" was cross and wouldn't go to sleep, and Phronsie was on the point of giving up, and returning to the house, when a strain of music made her pause with dolly in her apron. There she stood with her finger in her mouth, in utter astonishment, wondering where the sweet sounds came from.

"Oh, Phronsie!" screamed Polly, from the back door, "where are—oh, here, come quick! it's the beau-ti-fullest!"

"What is it?" eagerly asked the little one, hopping over the stubby grass, leaving poor, discarded "Baby" on its snubby nose where it dropped in her hurry.

"Oh, a monkey!" cried Polly; "do hurry! the sweetest little monkey you ever saw!"

"What is a monkey?" asked Phronsie, skurrying after Polly to the gate where her mother was waiting for them.

"Why, a monkey's—a—monkey," explained Polly, "I don't know any better'n that. Here he is! Isn't he splendid!" and she lifted Phronsie up to the big post where she could see finely.

"O-oh! ow!" screamed little Phronsie, "see him, Polly! just see him!"

A man with an organ was standing in the middle of the road playing away with all his might, and at the end of a long rope was a lively little monkey in a bright red coat and a smart cocked hat. The little creature pulled off his hat, and with one long jump coming on the fence, he made Phronsie a most magnificent bow. Strange to say, the child wasn't in the least frightened, but put out her little fat hand, speaking in gentle tones, "Poor little monkey! come here, poor little monkey!"

Turning up his little wrinkled face, and glancing fearfully at his master, Jocko began to grimace and beg for something to eat. The man pulled the string and struck up a merry tune, and in a minute the monkey spun around and around at such a lively pace, and put in so many queer antics that the little audience were fairly convulsed with laughter.

"I can't pay you," said Mrs. Pepper, wiping her eyes, when at last the man pulled up the strap whistling to Jocko to jump up, "but I'll give you something to eat; and the monkey, too, he shall have something for his pains in amusing my children."

The man looked very cross when she brought him out only brown bread and two cold potatoes.

"Haven't you got nothin' better'n that?"

"It's as good as we have," answered Mrs. Pepper.

The man threw down the bread in the road. But Jocko thankfully ate his share, Polly and Phronsie busily feeding him; and then he turned and snapped up the portion his master had left in the dusty road.

Then they moved on, Mrs. Pepper and Polly going back to their work in the kitchen. A little down the road the man struck up another tune. Phronsie who had started merrily to tell "Baby" all about it, stopped a minute to hear, and—she didn't go back to the orchard!

About two hours after, Polly said merrily:

"I'm going to call Phronsie in, mammy; she must be awfully tired and hungry by this time."

She sang gayly on the way, "I'm coming, Phronsie, coming—why, where!—" peeping under the tree.

"Baby" lay on its face disconsolately on the ground—and the orchard was empty! Phronsie was gone!

"It's no use," said Ben, to the distracted household and such of the neighbors as the news had brought hurriedly to the scene, "to look any more around here—but somebody must go toward Hingham; he'd be likely to go that way."

"No one could tell where he would go," cried Polly, wringing her hands.

"But he'd change, Ben, if he thought folks would think he'd gone there," said Mrs. Pepper.

"We must go all roads," said Ben, firmly; "one must take the stage to Boxville, and I'll take Deacon Brown's wagon on the Hingham road, and somebody else must go to Toad Hollow."

"I'll go in the stage," screamed Joel, who could scarcely see out of his eyes, he had cried so; "I'll find—find her—I know.

"Be spry, then, Joe, and catch it at the corner!"

Everybody soon knew that little Phronsie Pepper had gone off with "a cross organ man and an awful monkey!" and in the course of an hour dozens of people were out on the hot, dusty roads in search.

"What's the matter?" asked a testy old gentleman in the stage, of Joel who, in his anxiety to see both sides of the road at once, bobbed the old gentleman in the face so often as the stage lurched, that at last he knocked his hat over his eyes.

"My sister's gone off with a monkey," explained Joel, bobbing over to the other side, as he thought he caught sight of something pink that he felt sure must be Phronsie's apron. "Stop! stop! there she is!" he roared, and the driver, who had his instructions and was fully in sympathy, pulled up so suddenly that the old gentleman flew over into the opposite seat.

"Where?"

But when they got up to it Joel saw that it was only a bit of pink calico flapping on a clothes-line; so he climbed back and away they rumbled again.

The others were having the same luck. No trace could be found of the child. To Ben, who took the Hingham road, the minutes seemed like hours.

"I won't go back," he muttered, "until I take her. I can't see mother's face!"

But the ten miles were nearly traversed; almost the last hope was gone. Into every thicket and lurking place by the road-side had he peered—but no Phronsie! Deacon Brown's horse began to lag.

"Go on!" said Ben hoarsely; "oh, dear Lord, make me find her!"

The hot sun poured down on the boy's face, and he had no cap. What cared he for that? On and on he went. Suddenly the horse stopped. Ben doubled up the reins to give him a cut, when "WHOA!" he roared so loud that the horse in very astonishment gave a lurch that nearly flung him headlong. But he was over the wheel in a twinkling, and up with a bound to a small thicket of scrubby bushes on a high hill by the road-side. Here lay a little bundle on the ground, and close by it a big, black dog; and over the whole, standing guard, was a boy a little bigger than Ben, with honest gray eyes. And the bundle was Phronsie!

"Don't wake her up," said the boy, warningly, as Ben, with a hungry look in his eyes, leaped up the hill, "she's tired to death!"

"She's my sister!" cried Ben, "our Phronsie!"

"I know it," said the boy kindly; "but I wouldn't wake her up yet if I were you. I'll tell you all about it," and he took Ben's hand which was as cold as ice.



SAFE

"It's all right, Prince," the boy added, encouragingly to the big dog who, lifting his noble head, had turned two big eyes steadily on Ben. "He's all right! lie down again!"

Then, flinging himself down on the grass, he told Ben how he came to rescue Phronsie.

"Prince and I were out for a stroll," said he. "I live over in Hingham," pointing to the pretty little town just a short distance before them in the hollow; "that is," laughing, "I do this summer. Well, we were out strolling along about a mile below here on the cross-road; and all of a sudden, just as if they sprung right up out of the ground, I saw a man with an organ, and a monkey, and a little girl, coming along the road. She was crying, and as soon as Prince saw that, he gave a growl, and then the man saw us, and he looked so mean and cringing I knew there must be something wrong, and I inquired of him what he was doing with that little girl, and then she looked up and begged so with her eyes, and all of a sudden broke away from him and ran towards me screaming—'I want Polly!' Well, the man sprang after her; then I tell you—" here the boy forgot his caution about waking Phronsie—"we went for him, Prince and I! Prince is a noble fellow," (here the dog's ears twitched very perceptibly) "and he kept at that man; oh! how he bit him! till he had to run for fear the monkey would get killed."

"Was Phronsie frightened?" asked Ben; "she's never seen strangers."

"Not a bit," said the boy, cheerily; "she just clung to me like everything—I only wish she was my sister," he added impulsively.

"What were you going to do with her if I hadn't come along?" asked Ben.

"Well, I got out on the main road," said the boy, "because I thought anybody who had lost her, would probably come through this way; but if somebody hadn't come, I was going to carry her in to Hingham; and the father and I'd had to contrive some way to do."

"Well," said Ben, as the boy finished and fastened his bright eyes on him, "somebody did come along; and now I must get her home about as fast as I can for poor mammy—and Polly!"

"Yes," said the boy, "I'll help you lift her; perhaps she won't wake up."

The big dog moved away a step or two, but still kept his eye on Phronsie.

"There," said the boy, brightly, as they laid the child on the wagon seat; "now when you get in you can hold her head; that's it," he added, seeing them both fixed to his satisfaction. But still Ben lingered.

"Thank you," he tried to say.

"I know," laughed the boy; "only it's Prince instead of me," and he pulled forward the big black creature, who had followed faithfully down the hill to see the last of it. "To the front, sir, there! We're coming to see you," he continued, "if you will let us—where do you live?"

"Do come," said Ben, lighting up, for he was just feeling he couldn't bear to look his last on the merry, honest face; "anybody'll tell you where Mrs. Pepper lives."

"Is she a Pepper?" asked the boy, laughing, and pointing to the unconscious little heap in the wagon; "and are you a Pepper?"

"Yes," said Ben, laughing too. "There are five of us besides mother.

"Jolly! that's something like! Good-bye! Come on, Prince!" Then away home to mother! Phronsie never woke up or turned over once till she was put, a little pink sleepy heap, into her mother's arms. Joel was there, crying bitterly at his forlorn search. The testy old gentleman in the seat opposite had relented and ordered the coach about and brought him home in an outburst of grief when all hope was gone. And one after another they all had come back, disheartened, to the distracted mother. Polly alone, clung to hope!

"Ben will bring her, mammy; I know God will let him," she whispered.

But when Ben did bring her, Polly, for the second time in her life, tumbled over with a gasp, into old Mrs. Bascom's lap.

Home and mother! Little Phronsie slept all that night straight through. The neighbors came in softly, and with awestruck visages stole into the bedroom to look at the child; and as they crept out again, thoughts of their own little ones tugging at their hearts, the tears would drop unheeded.



NEW FRIENDS

Up the stairs of the hotel, two steps at a time, ran a boy with a big, black dog at his heels. "Come on, Prince; soft, now," as they neared a door at the end of the corridors.

It opened into a corner room overlooking "the Park," as the small open space in front of the hotel was called. Within the room there was sunshine and comfort, it being the most luxurious one in the house, which the proprietor had placed at the disposal of this most exacting guest. He didn't look very happy, however—the gentleman who sat in an easy chair by the window; a large, handsome old gentleman, whose whole bearing showed plainly that personal comfort had always been his, and was, therefore, neither a matter of surprise nor thankfulness.

"Where have you been?" he asked, turning around to greet the boy who came in, followed by Prince.

"Oh, such a long story, father!" he cried, flushed; his eyes sparkling as he flung back the dark hair from his forehead. "You can't even guess!"

"Never mind now," said the old gentleman, testily; "your stories are always long; the paper hasn't come—strange, indeed, that one must needs be so annoyed! do ring that bell again."

So the bell was pulled; and a porter popped in his head.

"What is it, sir?"

"The paper," said the old gentleman, irritably; "hasn't it come yet?"

"No, sir," said the man; and then he repeated, "taint in yet, please, sir."

"Very well—you said so once; that's all," waving his hand; then as the door closed, he said to his son, "That pays one for coming to such an out-of-the-way country place as this, away from papers—I never will do it again."

As the old gentleman, against the advice of many friends who knew his dependence on externals, had determined to come to this very place, the boy was not much startled at the decisive words. He stood very quietly, however, until his father finished. Then he said:

"It's too bad, father! supposing I tell you my story? Perhaps you'll enjoy hearing it while you wait—it's really quite newspaperish."

"Well, you might as well tell it now, I suppose," said the old gentleman; "but it is a great shame about that paper! to advertise that morning papers are to be obtained—it's a swindle, Jasper! a complete swindle!" and the old gentleman looked so very irate that the boy exerted himself to soothe him.

"I know," he said; "but they can't help the trains being late."

"They shouldn't have the trains late," said his father, unreasonably. "There's no necessity for all this prating about 'trains late.' I'm convinced it's because they forgot to send down for the papers till they were all sold."

"I don't believe that's it, father," said the boy, trying to change the subject; "but you don't know how splendid Prince has been, nor—" "And then such a breakfast!" continued the old gentleman.

"My liver certainly will be in a dreadful state if these things continue!" And he got up, and going to the corner of the room, opened his medicine chest, and taking a box of pills therefrom, he swallowed two, which done, he came back with a somewhat easier expression to his favorite chair.

"He was just splendid, father," began the boy; "he went for him, I tell you!"

"I hope, Jasper, your dog has not been doing anything violent," said the old gentleman. "I must caution you; he'll get you into trouble some day; and then there'll be a heavy bill to pay; he grows more irritable every day."

"Irritable!" cried the boy, flinging his arms around the dog's neck, who was looking up at the old gentleman in high disdain. "He's done the most splendid thing you ever saw! Why, he saved a little girl, father, from a cross old organ-man, and he drove that man—oh! you ought to have seen him run!"

And now that it was over, Jasper put back his head and laughed long and loud as he remembered the rapid transit of the musical pair.

"Well, how do you know she wasn't the man's daughter?" asked his father, determined to find fault someway. "You haven't any business to go around the country setting your dog on people. I shall have an awful bill to pay some day, Jasper—an awful bill!" he continued, getting up and commencing to pace up and down the floor in extreme irritation.

"Father," cried the boy, half laughing, half vexed, springing to his side, and keeping step with him, "we found her brother; he came along when we were by the side of the road. We couldn't go any further, for the poor little thing was all tired out. And don't you think they live over in Badgertown, and—"

"Well," said the old gentleman, pausing in his walk, and taking out his watch to wonder if that paper would ever come, "she had probably followed the organ-man; so it served her right after all."

"Well, but father," and the boy's dark eyes glowed, "she was such a cunning little thing! she wasn't more than four years old; and she had such a pretty little yellow head; and she said so funny—'I want Polly."

"Did she?" said the old gentleman, getting interested in spite of himself; "what then?"

"Why, then, sir," said Jasper, delighted at his success in diverting his thoughts, "Prince and I waited—and waited; and I was just going to bring her here to ask you what we should do, when—" "Dear me!" said the old gentleman, instinctively starting back as if he actually saw the forlorn little damsel, "you needn't ever bring such people here, Jasper! I don't know what to do with them, I'm sure!"

"Well," said the boy, laughing, "we didn't have to, did we, Prince?" stroking the big head of the dog who was slowly following the two as they paced up and down, but keeping carefully on the side of his master; "for just as we really didn't know what to do, don't you think there was a big wagon came along, drawn by the ricketiest old horse, and a boy in the wagon looking both sides of the road, and into every bush, just as wild as he could be, and before I could think, hardly, he spied us, and if he didn't jump! I thought he'd broken his leg—"

"And I suppose he just abused you for what you had done," observed the old gentleman, petulantly; "that's about all the gratitude there is in this world."

"He didn't seem to see me at all," said the boy. "I thought he'd eat the little girl up."

"Ought to have looked out for her better then," grumbled the old gentleman, determined to find fault with somebody.

"And he's a splendid fellow, I just know," cried Jasper, waxing enthusiastic; "and his name is Pepper."

"Pepper!" repeated his father; "no nice family ever had the name of Pepper!"

"Well, I don't care," and Jasper's laugh was loud and merry; "he's nice anyway,—I know; and the little thing's nice; and I'm going to see them—can't I, father?"

"Dear me!" said his father; "how can you, Jasper? You do have the strangest tastes I ever saw!"

"It's dreadful dull here," pleaded the boy, touching the right string; "you know that yourself, father, and I don't know any boys around here; and Prince and I are so lonely on our walks—do permit me, father!"

The old gentleman, who really cared very little about it, turned away, muttering, "Well, I'm sure I don't care; go where you like," when a knock was heard at the door, and the paper was handed in, which broke up the conversation, and restored good humor.

The next day but one, Ben was out by the wood-pile, trying to break up some kindlings for Polly who was washing up the dishes, and otherwise preparing for the delights of baking day.

"Hulloa!" said a voice bethought he knew.

He turned around to see the merry-faced boy, and the big, black dog who immediately began to wag his tail as if willing to recognize him.

"You see I thought you'd never look round," said the boy with a laugh. "How's the little girl?"

"Oh! you have come, really," cried Ben, springing over the wood-pile with a beaming face. "Polly!"

But Polly was already by the door, with dish-cloth in hand. "This is my sister, Polly," began Ben—and then stopped, not knowing the boy's name.

"I'm Jasper King," said the boy, stepping upon the flat stone by Polly's side; and taking off his cap, he put out his hand. "And this is Prince," he added.

Polly put her hand in his, and received a hearty shake; and then she sprang over the big stove, dish-cloth and all, and just flung her arms around the dog's neck.

"Oh, you splendid fellow, you!" said she. "Don't you know we all think you're as good as gold?"

The dog submitted to the astonishing proceeding as if he liked it, while Jasper, delighted with Polly's appreciation, beamed down on them, and struck up friendship with her on the instant.

"Now, I must call Phronsie," said Polly, getting up, her face as red as a rose.

"Is her name Phronsie?" asked the boy with interest.

"No, it's Sophronia," said Polly, "but we call her Phronsie."

"What a very funny name," said Jasper, "Sophronia is, for such a little thing—and yours is Polly, is it not?" he asked, turning around suddenly on her.

"Yes," said Polly; "no, not truly Polly; it's Mary, my real name is—but I've always been Polly."

"I like Polly best, too," declared Jasper, "it sounds so nice."

"And his name is Ben," said Polly.

"Ebenezer, you mean," said Ben, correcting her.

"Well, we call him Ben," said Polly; "it don't ever seem as if there was any Ebenezer about it."

"I should think not," laughed Jasper.

"Well, I must get Phronsie," again said Polly, running back into the bedroom, where that small damsel was busily engaged in washing "Baby" in the basin of water that she had with extreme difficulty succeeded in getting down on the floor. She had then, by means of a handful of soft soap, taken from Polly's soap-bowl during the dish-washing, and a bit of old cotton, plastered both herself and "Baby" to a comfortable degree of stickiness.

"Phronsie," said Polly—"dear me! what you doing? the big dog's out there, you know, that scared the naughty organ-man; and the boy—" but before the words were half out, Phronsie had slipped from under her hands, and to Polly's extreme dismay, clattered out into the kitchen.

"Here she is!" cried Jasper, meeting her at the door. The little soapy hands were grasped, and kissing her—"Ugh!" he said, as the soft soap plentifully spread on her face met his mouth.

"Oh, Phronsie! you shouldn't," cried Polly, and then they all burst out into a peal of laughter at Jasper's funny grimaces.

"She's been washing 'Baby," explained Polly, wiping her eyes, and looking at Phronsie who was hanging over Prince in extreme affection. Evidently Prince still regarded her as his especial property.

"Have you got a baby?" asked Jasper. "I thought she was the baby," pointing to Phronsie.

"Oh, I mean her littlest dolly; she always calls her 'Baby," said Polly. "Come, Phronsie, and have your face washed, and a clean apron on."

When Phronsie could be fairly persuaded that Prince would not run away during her absence, she allowed herself to be taken off; and soon re-appeared, her own, dainty little self. Ben, in the meantime, had been initiating Jasper into the mysteries of cutting the wood, the tool-house, and all the surroundings of the "little brown house." They had received a re-inforcement in the advent of Joel and David, who stared delightedly at Phronsie's protector, made friends with the dog, and altogether had had such a thoroughly good time, that Phronsie, coming back, clapped her hands in glee to hear them.

"I wish mammy was home," said Polly, polishing up the last cup carefully.

"Let me put it up," said Jasper, taking it from her, "it goes up here, don't it, with the rest?" reaching up to the upper-shelf of the old cupboard.

"Yes," said Polly.

"Oh, I should think you'd have real good times!" said the boy, enviously. "I haven't a single sister or brother."

"Haven't you?" said Polly, looking at him in extreme pity. "Yes, we do have real fun," she added, answering his questioning look; "the house is just brimful sometimes, even if we are poor."

"We aren't poor," said Joel, who never could bear to be pitied. Then, with a very proud air, he said in a grand way, "At any rate, we aren't going to be, long, for something's coming!"

"What do you mean, Joey?" asked Ben, while the rest looked equally amazed.

"Our ships," said Joel confidently, as if they were right before their eyes; at which they all screamed!

"See Polly's stove!" cried Phronsie, wishing to entertain in her turn. "Here 'tis," running up to it, and pointing with her fat little finger.

"Yes, I see," cried Jasper, pretending to be greatly surprised; "it's new, isn't it?"

"Yes," said the child; "it's very all new; four yesterdays ago!"

And then Polly stopped in sweeping up and related, with many additions and explanations from the others, the history of the stove, and good Dr. Fisher (upon whom they all dilated at great length), and the dreadful measles, and everything. And Jasper sympathized, and rejoiced with them to their hearts content, and altogether got so very home-like, that they all felt as if they had known him for a year. Ben neglected his work a little, but then visitors didn't come every day to the Peppers; so while Polly worked away at her bread, which she was "going to make like biscuits," she said, the audience gathered in the little old kitchen was in the merriest mood, and enjoyed everything to the fullest extent.

"Do put in another stick, Bensie dear," said Polly; "this bread won't be fit for anything!"

"Isn't this fun, though!" cried Jasper, running up to try the oven; "I wish I could ever bake," and he looked longingly at the little brown biscuits waiting their turn out on the table.

"You come out some day," said Polly, sociably, "and we'll all try baking—mammy'd like to have you, I know," feeling sure that nothing would be too much for Mrs. Pepper to do for the protector of little Phronsie.

"I will!" cried Jasper, perfectly delighted. "You can't think how awfully dull it is out in Hingham!"

"Don't you live there?" asked Polly, with a gasp, almost dropping a tin full of little brown lumps of dough she was carrying to the oven.

"Live there!" cried Jasper; and then he burst out into a merry laugh. "No, indeed! I hope not! Why, we're only spending the summer there, father and I, in the hotel."

"Where's your mother?" asked Joel, squeezing in between Jasper and his audience. And then they all felt instinctively that a very wrong question had been asked.

"I haven't any mother," said the boy, in a low voice.

They all stood quite still for a moment; then Polly said, "I wish you'd come out sometime; and you may bake—or anything else," she added; and there was a kinder ring to her voice than ever.

No mother! Polly for her life, couldn't imagine how anybody could feel without a mother, but the very words alone smote her heart; and there was nothing she wouldn't have done to give pleasure to one who had done so much for them.

"I wish you could see our mother," she said, gently. "Why, here she comes now! oh, mamsie, dear," she cried. "Do, Joe, run and take her bundle."

Mrs. Pepper stopped a minute to kiss Phronsie—her baby was dearer than ever to her now. Then her eye fell on Jasper, who stood respectfully waiting and watching her with great interest.

"Is this," she asked, taking it all in at the first glance—the boy with the honest eyes as Ben had described him—and the big, black dog—"is this the boy who saved my little girl?"

"Oh, ma'am," cried Jasper, "I didn't do much; 'twas Prince."

"I guess you never'll know how much you did do," said Mrs. Pepper. Then looking with a long, keen gaze into the boy's eyes that met her own so frankly and kindly: "I'll trust him," she said to herself; "a boy with those eyes can't help but be good."

"Her eyes are just the same as Polly's," thought Jasper, "just such laughing ones, only Polly's are brown," and he liked her on the spot.

And then, somehow, the hubbub ceased. Polly went on with her work, and the others separated, and Mrs. Pepper and Jasper had a long talk. When the mother's eyes fell on Phronsie playing around on the floor, she gave the boy a grateful smile that he thought was beautiful.

"Well, I declare," said Jasper, at last, looking up at the old clock in the corner by the side of the cupboard, "I'm afraid I'll miss the stage, and then father never'll let me come again. Come, Prince."

"Oh, don't go," cried Phronsie, wailing. "Let doggie stay! Oh, make him stay, mammy!"

"I can't, Phronsie," said Mrs. Pepper, smiling, "if he thinks he ought to go."

"I'll come again," said Jasper, eagerly, "if I may, ma'am."

He looked up at Mrs. Pepper as he stood cap in hand, waiting for the answer.

"I'm sure we should be glad if your father'll be willing," she added; thinking, proudly, "My children are an honor to anybody, I'm sure," as she glanced around on the bright little group she could call her own. "But be sure, Jasper," and she laid her hand on his arm as she looked down into his eyes, "that you father is willing, that's all."

"Oh, yes, ma'am," said the boy; "but he will be, I guess, if he feels well."

"Then come on Thursday," said Polly; "and can't we bake something then, mammy?"

"I'm sure I don't care," laughed Mrs. Pepper; "but you won't find much but brown flour and meal to bake with."

"Well, we can pretend," said Polly; "and we can cut the cakes with the heart-shape, and they'll do for anything.

"Oh, I'll come," laughed Jasper, ready for such lovely fun in the old kitchen; "look out for me on Thursday, Ben!"

So Jasper and Prince took their leave, all the children accompanying them to the gate; and then after seeing him fairly started on a smart run to catch the stage, Prince scampering at his heels, they all began to sing his praises and to wish for Thursday to come.

But Jasper didn't come! Thursday came and went; a beautiful, bright, sunny day, but with no signs of the merry boy whom all had begun to love, nor of the big black dog. The children had made all the needful preparations with much ostentation and bustle, and were in a state of excited happiness, ready for any gale. But the last hope had to be given up, as the old clock ticked away hour after hour. And at last Polly had to put Phronsie to bed, who wouldn't stop crying enough to eat her supper at the dreadful disappointment.

"He couldn't come, I know," said both Ben and Polly, standing staunchly up for their new friend; but Joel and David felt that he had broken his word.

"He promised," said Joel, vindictively.

"I don't believe his father'd let him," said Polly, wiping away a sly tear; "I know Jasper'd come, if he could."

Mrs. Pepper wisely kept her own counsel, simply giving them a kindly caution:

"Don't you go to judging him, children, till you know."

"Well, he promised," said Joel, as a settler.

"Aren't you ashamed, Joel," said his mother, "to talk about any one whose back is turned? Wait till he tells you the reason himself."

Joel hung his head, and then began to tease David in the corner, to make up for his disappointment.

The next morning Ben had to go to the store after some more meal. As he was going out rather dismally, the storekeeper, who was also postmaster, called out, "Oh, halloa, there!"

"What is it?" asked Ben, turning back, thinking perhaps Mr. Atkins hadn't given him the right change.

"Here," said Mr. Atkins, stepping up to the Post-office department, quite smart with its array of boxes and official notices, where Ben had always lingered, wishing there might be sometime a letter for him—or some of them. "You've got a sister Polly, haven't you?"

"Yes," said Ben, wondering what was coming next.

"Well, she's got a letter," said the postmaster, holding up a nice big envelope, looking just like those that Ben had so many times wished for. That magic piece of white paper danced before the boy's eyes for a minute; then he said, "It can't be for her, Mr. Atkins; why, she's never had one."

"Well, she's got one now, sure enough," said Mr. Atkins; "here 'tis, plain enough," and he read what he had no need to study much as it had already passed examination by his own and his wife's faithful eyes: "Miss Polly Pepper, near the Turnpike, Badgertown'—that's her, isn't it?" he added, laying it down before Ben's eyes. "Must be a first time for everything, you know, my boy!" and he laughed long over his own joke; "so take it and run along home." For Ben still stood looking at it, and not offering to stir.

"If you say so," said the boy, as if Mr. Atkins had given him something out of his own pocket; "but I'm afraid 'tisn't for Polly." Then buttoning up the precious letter in his jacket, he spun along home as never before.

"Polly! Polly!" he screamed. "Where is she, mother?"

"I don't know," said Mrs. Pepper, coming out of the bedroom. "Dear me! is anybody hurt, Ben?"

"I don't know," said Ben, in a state to believe anything, "but Polly's got a letter."

"Polly got a letter!" cried Mrs. Pepper; "what do you mean, Ben?"

"I don't know," repeated the boy, still holding out the precious letter; "but Mr. Atkins gave it to me; where is Polly?"

"I know where she is," said Joel; "she's up-stairs." And he flew out in a twinkling, and just as soon reappeared with Polly scampering after him in the wildest excitement.

And then the kitchen was in an uproar as the precious missive was put into Polly's hand; and they all gathered around her, wondering and examining, till Ben thought he would go wild with the delay.

"I wonder where it did come from," said Polly, in the greatest anxiety, examining again the address.

"Where does the postmark say?" asked Mrs. Pepper, looking over her shoulder.

"It's all rubbed out," said Polly, peering at it "you can't see anything."

"Do open it," said Ben, "and then you'll find out."

"But p'raps 'tisn't for me," said Polly, timidly.

"Well, Mr. Atkins says 'tis," said Ben, impatiently; "here, I'll open it for you, Polly."

"No, let her open it for herself, Ben," protested his mother.

"But she won't," said Ben; "do tear it open, Polly."

"No, I'm goin' to get a knife," she said.

"I'll get one," cried Joel, running up to the table drawer; "here's one, Polly."

"Oh, dear," groaned Ben; "you never'll get it open at this rate!"

But at last it was cut; and they all holding their breath, gazed awe-struck, while Polly drew out the mysterious missive.

"What does it say?" gasped Mrs. Pepper.

"Dear Miss Polly," began both Ben and Polly in a breath. "Let Polly read," said Joel, who couldn't hear in the confusion.

"Well, go on Polly," said Ben; "hurry!"

"Dear Miss Polly, I was so sorry I couldn't come on Thursday—"

"Oh, it's Jasper! it's Jasper!" cried all the children in a breath.

"I told you so!" cried Ben and Polly, perfectly delighted to find their friend vindicated fully—"there! Joey Pepper!"

"Well, I don't care," cried Joe, nothing daunted, "he didn't come, anyway—do go on, Polly."

"I was so sorry I couldn't come—" began Polly.

"You read that," said Joel.

"I know it," said Polly, "but it's just lovely; 'on Thursday; but my father was sick, and I couldn't leave him. If you don't mind I'll come again—I mean I'll come some other day, if it's just as convenient for you, for I do so want the baking, and the nice time. I forgot to say that I had a cold, to,' (here Jasper had evidently had a struggle in his mind whether there should be two o's or one, and he had at last decided it, by crossing out one) but my father is willing I should come when I get well. Give my love to all, and especially remember me respectfully to your mother. Your friend,

"JASPER ELYOT KING."

"Oh, lovely! lovely!" cried Polly, flying around with the letter in her hand; "so he is coming!"

Ben was just as wild as she was, for no one knew but Polly just how the new friend had stepped into his heart. Phronsie went to sleep happy, hugging "Baby."

"And don't you think, Baby, dear," she whispered sleepily, and Polly heard her say as she was tucking her in, "that Jasper is really comin'; really—and the big, be-you-ti-ful doggie, too!"



PHRONSIE PAYS A DEBT OF GRATITUDE

"And now I tell you," said Polly, the next day, "let's make Jasper something; can't we, ma?"

"Oh, do! do!" cried all the other children, "let's; but what'll it be, Polly?"

"I don't know about this," interrupted Mrs. Pepper; "I don't see how you could get anything to him if you could make it."

"Oh, we could, mamsie," said Polly, eagerly, running up to her; "for Ben knows; and he says we can do it."

"Oh, well, if Ben and you have had your heads together, I suppose it's all right," laughed Mrs. Pepper, "but I don't see how you can do it."

"Well, we can, mother, truly," put in Ben. "I'll tell you how, and you'll say it'll be splendid. You see Deacon Blodgett's goin' over to Hingham, to-morrow; I heard him tell Miss Blodgett so; and he goes right past the hotel; and we can do it up real nice—and it'll please Jasper so—do, mammy!"

"And it's real dull there, Jasper says," put in Polly, persuasively; "and just think, mammy, no brothers and sisters!" And Polly looked around on the others.

After that there was no need to say anything more; her mother would have consented to almost any plan then.

"Well, go on, children," she said; "you may do it; I don't see but what you can get 'em there well enough; but I'm sure I don't know what you can make."

"Can't we," said Polly—and she knelt down by her mother's side and put her face in between the sewing in Mrs. Pepper's lap, and the eyes bent kindly down on her—"make some little cakes, real cakes I mean? now don't say no, mammy!" she said, alarmed, for she saw a "no" slowly coming in the eyes above her, as Mrs. Pepper began to shake her head.

"But we haven't any white flour, Polly," began her mother. "I know," said Polly; "but we'll make 'em of brown, it'll do, if you'll give us some raisins—you know there's some in the bowl, mammy."

"I was saving them for a nest egg," said Mrs. Pepper; meaning at some future time to indulge in another plum-pudding that the children so loved.

"Well, do give 'em to us," cried Polly; "do, ma!"

"I want 'em for a plum-pudding sometime," said Mrs. Pepper.

"Ow!—" and Joel with a howl sprung up from the floor where he had been trying to make a cart for "Baby" out of an old box, and joined Mrs. Pepper and Polly. "No, don't give 'em away, ma!" he screamed; "let's have our plum-pudding—now, Polly Pepper, you're a-goin' to bake up all our raisins in nasty little cakes—and—"

"Joey!" commanded Mrs. Pepper, "hush! what word did you say!"

"Well," blubbered Joel, wiping his tears away with his grimy little hand, "Polly's—a-goin'—to give—"

"I should rather you'd never have a plum-pudding than to say such words," said Mrs. Pepper, sternly, taking up her work again. "And besides, do you think what Jasper has done for you?" and her face grew very white around the lips.

"Well, he can have plum-puddings," said Joel, whimpering, "forever an' ever, if he wants them—and—and—"

"Well, Joey," said Polly, "there, don't feel bad," and she put her arms around him, and tried to wipe away the tears that still rolled down his cheeks. "We won't give 'em if you don't want us to; but Jasper's sick, and there isn't anything for him to do, and—" here she whispered slyly up into his ear, "don't you remember how you liked folks to send you things when you had the measles?"

"Yes, I know," said Joel, beginning to smile through his tears; "wasn't it fun, Polly?"

"I guess 'twas," laughed Polly back again, pleased at the return of sunshine. "Well, Jasper'll be just as pleased as you were, 'cause we love him and want to do somethin' for him, he was so good to Phronsie."

"I will, Polly, I will," cried Joel, completely won over; "do let's make 'em for him; and put 'em in thick; oh! thick as you can;" and determined to do nothing by halves, Joel ran generously for the precious howl of raisins, and after setting it on the table, began to help Polly in all needful preparations.

Mrs. Pepper smiled away to herself to see happiness restored to the little group. And soon a pleasant hum and bustle went on around the baking table, the centre of attraction.

"Now," said Phronsie, coming up to the table and standing on tip-toe to see Polly measure out the flour, "I'm a-goin' to bake something for my sick man, I am."

"Oh, no, Phronsie, you can't," began Polly.

"Hey?" asked Joel, with a daub of flour on the tip of his chubby nose, gained by too much peering into Polly's flour-bag. "What did she say, Polly?" watching her shake the clouds of flour in the sieve.

"She said she was goin' to bake something for Jasper," said Polly. "There," as she whisked in the flour, "now that's done."

"No, I didn't say Jasper," said Phronsie; "I didn't say Jasper," she repeated, emphatically.

"Why, what did you say, Pet?" asked Polly, astonished, while little Davie repeated, "What did you say, Phronsie?"

"I said my sick man," said Phronsie, shaking her yellow head; "poor sick man."

"Who does she mean?" said Polly in despair, stopping a moment her violent stirring that threatened to overturn the whole cake-bowl.

"I guess she means Prince," said Joel. "Can't I stir, Polly?"

"Oh, no," said Polly; "only one person must stir cake."

"Why?" asked Joel; "why, Polly?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Polly, "cause 'tis so; never mind now, Joel. Do you mean Prince, Phronsie?"

"No, I don't mean Princey," said the child decisively; "I mean my sick man."

"It's Jasper's father, I guess she means," said Mrs. Pepper over in the corner; "but what in the world!"

"Yes, yes," cried Phronsie, perfectly delighted at being at last understood, and hopping on one toe; "my sick man."

"I shall give up!" said Polly, tumbling over in a chair, with the cake spoon in her hand, from which a small sticky lump fell on her apron, which Joel immediately pounced upon and devoured. "What do you want to bake, Phronsie?" she gasped, holding the spoon sticking up straight, and staring at the child.

"A gingerbread boy," said the child, promptly; "he'd like that best; poor, sick man!" and she commenced to climb up to active preparations.



A LETTER TO JASPER

"Mamsie, what shall we do?" implored Polly of her mother.

"I don't know," said her mother; "however did that get into her head, do you suppose?"

"I am sure I can't tell," said Polly, jumping up and beginning to stir briskly to make up for lost time. "P'r'aps she heard us talking about Jasper's having to take care of his sick father, and how hard it must be to be sick away from home."

"Yes," said Phronsie, "but he'll be glad to see my gingerbread boy, I guess; poor, sick man."

"Oh, Phronsie," cried Polly, in great distress, "you aren't ever going to make a 'gingerbread boy' to-day! see, we'll put in a cunning little cake for Mr. King—full of raisins, Phronsie; won't that be lovely!" and Polly began to fill a little scalloped tin with some of the cake mixture.

"N-no," said the child, eying it suspiciously; "that isn't like a 'gingerbread boy,' Polly; he'll like that best."

"Mamsie," said Polly, "we can't let her make a dreadful, horrid 'gingerbread boy' to send Mr. King! he never'll let Jasper come here again."

"Oh, let her," cried Joel; "she can bake it, and Dave an' I'll eat it," and he picked up a raisin that had fallen under the table and began crunching it with great gusto.

"That wouldn't be fair," said Polly, gloomily. "Do get her off from it, mammy."

"Phronsie," said Mrs. Pepper, going up back of the child, who sat patiently in her high chair waiting for Polly to let her begin, "hadn't you rather wait and give your 'gingerbread boy' to Jasper for his father, when he comes?"

"Oh, no, no," cried Phronsie, twisting in her chair in great apprehension, "I want to send it now, I do."

"Well, Polly," said her mother, laughing, "after all it's best, I think, to let her; it can't do any harm anyway—and instead of Mr. King's not letting Jasper come, if he's a sensible man that won't make any difference; and if he isn't, why, then there'd be sure to something come up sometime to make trouble."

"Well," said Polly, "I suppose she's got to; and perhaps," as a consoling idea struck her, "perhaps she'll want to eat it up herself when it's done. Here, Phronsie," giving her a handful of the cake mixture, which she stiffened with flour to the right thickness, "there, you can call that a 'gingerbread boy;' see, won't it make a beautiful one!"

"You needn't think," said Mrs. Pepper, seeing Phronsie's delighted face, and laughing as she went back to her work, "but what that gingerbread boy'll go?"

When the little cakes were done, eight of them, and set upon the table for exhibition, they one and all protested that they never saw so fine a lot. Polly was delighted with the praise they received, and her mother's commendation that she was "growing a better cook every day." "How glad Jasper'll be, won't he, mamsie?" said she.

The children walked around and around the table, admiring and pointing out the chief points of attraction, as they appeared before their discriminating eyes.

"I should choose that one," said Joel, pointing at one which was particularly plummy, with a raisin standing up on one end with a festive air, as if to say, "there's lots of us inside, you better believe!"

"I wouldn't," said Davie, "I'd have that—that's cracked so pretty."

"So 'tis," said Mrs. Pepper; "they're all as light as a feather, Polly."

"But my 'gingerbread boy," cried Phronsie, running eagerly along with a particularly ugly looking specimen of a cake figure in her hand, "is the be-yew-tifullest, isn't it, Polly?"

"Oh, dear," groaned Polly, "it looks just awfully, don't it, Ben!"

"Hoh, hoh!" laughed Joel in derision; "his leg is crooked, see Phronsie—you better let Davie an' me have it."

"No, no," screamed the child in terror; "that's my sick man's 'gingerbread boy,' it is!"

"Joe, put it down," said Ben. "Yes, Phronsie, you shall have it; there, it's all safe;" and he put it carefully into Phronsie's apron, when she breathed easier.

"And he hasn't but one eye," still laughed Joel, while little Davie giggled too.

"He did have two," said Polly, "but she punched the other in with her thumb; don't, boys," she said, aside, "you'll make her feel bad; do stop laughing. Now, how'll we send the things?"

"Put 'em in a basket," said Ben; "that's nicest."

"But we haven't got any basket," said Polly, "except the potato basket, and they'd be lost in that."

"Can't we take your work-basket, mamsie?" asked Ben; "they'd look so nice in that."

"Oh," said Mrs. Pepper, "that wouldn't do; I couldn't spare it, and besides, it's all broken at the side, Ben; that don't look nice."

"Oh, dear," said Polly, sitting down on one of the hard wooden chairs to think, "I do wish we had things nice to send to sick people." And her forehead puckered up in a little hard knot.

"We'll have to do 'em up in a paper, Polly," said Ben; "there isn't any other way; they'll look nice in anything, 'cause they are nice," he added, comfortingly.

"If we only had some flowers," said Polly, "that would set 'em off."

"You're always a-thinkin' of flowers, Polly," said Ben. "I guess the cakes'll have to go without 'em."

"I suppose they will," said Polly, stifling a little sigh. "Where's the paper?"

"I've got a nice piece up-stairs," said Ben, "just right; I'll get it."

"Put my 'gingerbread boy' on top," cried Phronsie, handing him up.

So Polly packed the little cakes neatly in two rows, and laid the 'gingerbread boy' in a fascinating attitude across the top.

"He looks as if he'd been struck by lightning!" said Ben, viewing him critically as he came in the door with the paper.

"Be still," said Polly, trying not to laugh; "that's because he baked so funny; it made his feet stick out."

"Children," said Mrs. Pepper, "how'll Jasper know where the cakes come from?"

"Why, he'll know it's us," said Polly, "of course; 'cause it'll make him think of the baking we're going to have when he gets well."

"Well, but you don't say so," said Mrs. Pepper, smiling; "tisn't polite to send it this way."

"Whatever'll we do, mammy!" said all four children in dismay, while Phronsie simply stared. "Can't we send 'em at all?"

"Why yes," said their mother; "I hope so, I'm sure, after you've got 'em baked; but you might answer Jasper's letter I should think, and tell him about 'em, and the 'gingerbread boy'."

"Oh dear," said Polly, ready to fly, "I couldn't mamsie; I never wrote a letter."

"Well, you never had one before, did you?" said her mother, composedly biting her thread. "Never say you can't, Polly, 'cause you don't know what you can do till you've tried."

"You write, Ben," said Polly, imploringly.

"No," said Ben, "I think the nicest way is for all to say somethin', then 'twon't be hard for any of us."

"Where's the paper," queried Polly, "coming from, I wonder!"

"Joel," said Mrs. Pepper, "run to the bureau in the bedroom, and open the top drawer, and get a green box there."

So Joel, quite important at the errand, departed, and presently put the designated box into his mother's hand.

"There, now I'm going to give you this," and she took out a small sheet of paper slightly yellowed by age; but being gilt-edged, it looked very magnificent to the five pairs of eyes directed to it.

"Now Ben, you get the ink bottle and the pen, and then go to work."

So Ben reached down from the upper shelf in the cupboard the ink bottle, and a pen in a black wooden penholder.

"Oh, mamsie," cried Polly, "that's where Phronsie bit it off when she was a baby, isn't it?" holding up the stubby end where the little ball had disappeared.

"Yes," said Mrs. Pepper, "and now you're going to write about her 'gingerbread boy' with it—well, time goes, to be sure." And she bent over her work again, harder than ever. Poor woman! if she could only scrape together enough money to get her children into school—that was the earnest wish of her heart. She must do it soon, for Ben was twelve years old; but with all her strivings and scrimpings she could only manage to put bread into their mouths, and live from day to day. "I know I ought to be thankful for that," she said to herself, not taking time even to cry over her troubles. "But oh, the learning! they must have that!"

"Now," said Polly, "how'll we do it Ben?" as they ranged themselves around the table, on which reposed the cakes; "you begin."

"How do folks begin a letter?" asked Ben in despair, of his mother.

"How did Jasper begin his?" asked Mrs. Pepper back again. "Oh," cried Polly, running into the bedroom to get the precious missive. "Dear Miss Polly'—that's what it says."

"Well," said Mrs. Pepper, "then you'd better say, 'Dear Mister Jasper'—or you might say, 'Dear Mr. King.'"

"Oh, dear!" cried Polly, "that would be the father then—s'pose he should think we wrote to him!" and Polly looked horror-stricken to the last degree.

"There, there 'tis," said Ben: "'Dear Mister Jasper'—now what'll we say?"

"Why, say about the cakes," replied Polly.

"And the 'gingerbread boy," cried Phronsie. "Oh, tell about him, Polly, do."

"Yes, yes, Phronsie," said Polly, "we will—why, tell him how we wish he could have come, and that we baked him some cakes, and that we do so want him to come just as soon as he can."

"All right!" said Ben; so he went to work laboriously; only his hard breathing showing what a hard task it was, as the stiff old pen scratched up and down the paper.

"There, that's done," he cried at length in great satisfaction, holding it up for inspection.

"Oh, I do wish," cried Polly in intense admiration, "I could write so nice and so fast as you can, Ben."

"Read it, Polly," said Mrs. Pepper, in pride.

So Polly began: "Dear Mister Jasper we were all dreadfully sorry that you didn't come and so we baked you some cakes.'—You didn't say anything about his being sick, Ben."

"I forgot it," said Ben, "but I put it in farther down—you'll see if you read on."

"Baked you some cakes—that is, Polly did, for this is Ben that's writing."

"You needn't said that, Ben," said Polly, dissatisfied; "we all baked 'em, I'm sure. 'And just as soon as you get well we do want you to come over and have the baking. We're real sorry you're sick—boneset's good for colds."

"Oh, Ben!" said Mrs. Pepper, "I guess his father knows what to give him."

"And oh! the bitter stuff!" cried Polly, with a wry face. "Well, it's hard work to write," said Ben, yawning. "I'd rather chop wood."

"I wish! knew how," exclaimed Joel, longingly.

"Just you try every day; Ben'll teach you, Joe," said his mother, eagerly, "and then I'll let you write."

"I will!" cried Joe; "then, Dave, you'll see how I'll write—I tell you!"

"And I'm goin' to—ma, can't I?" said Davie, unwilling to be outdone.

"Yes, you may, be sure," said Mrs. Pepper, delighted; "that'll make a man of you fast."

"Oh, boys," said Polly, lifting a very red face, "you joggle the table so I can't do anything."

"I wasn't jogglin'," said Joel; "the old thing tipped. Look!" he whispered to Davie, "see Polly, she's writing crooked."

So while the others hung around her and looked over her shoulder while they made their various comments, Polly finished her part, and also held it up for inspection.

"Let us see," said Ben, taking it up.

"It's after, 'boneset's good for colds,'" said Polly, puckering up her face again at the thought.

"We most of us knew you were sick—I'm Polly now—because you didn't come; and we liked your letter telling us so. Oh, Polly! we weren't glad to hear he was sick!" cried Ben, in horror.

"I didn't say so!" cried Polly, starting up. "Why, Ben Pepper, I never said so!" and she looked ready to cry.

"It sounds something like it, don't it, mammy?" said Ben, unwilling to give her pain, but appealing to Mrs. Pepper.

"Polly didn't mean it," said her mother consolingly; "but if I were you, I'd say something to explain it."

"I can't put anything in now," said poor Polly; "there isn't any room nor any more paper either—what shall I do! I told you, Ben, I couldn't write." And Polly looked helplessly from one to the other for comfort.

"Yes, you can," said Ben; "there, now I'll show you: write it fine, Polly—you write so big—little bits of letters, like these."

So Polly took the pen again with a sigh. "Now he won't think so, I guess," she said, much relieved, as Ben began to read again.

"I'll begin yours again," Ben said: "We most of us knew you were sick because you didn't come, and we liked your letter telling us so because we'd all felt so badly, and Phronsie cried herself to sleep—" (that's good, I'm sure.) "The 'gingerbread boy' is for your father—please excuse it, but Phronsie would make it for him because he is sick. There isn't any more to write, and besides I can't write good, and Ben's tired. From all of us."

"Why, how's he to know?" cried Ben. "That won't do to sign it."

"Well, let's say from Ben and Polly then," said Polly; "only all the others want to be in the letter."

"Well, they can't write," said Ben.

"We might sign their names for 'em," suggested Polly.

"Here's mine," said Ben, putting under the "From all of us" a big, bold "Ben."

"And here's mine," echoed Polly, setting a slightly crooked "Polly" by its side.

"Now Joe, you better let Ben hold your hand," said Polly, warningly. But Joel declaring he could write had already begun, so there was no hope for it; and a big drop of ink falling from the pen, he spattered the "J" so that no one could tell what it was. The children looked at each other in despair.

"Can we ever get it out, mammy?" said Polly, running to Mrs. Pepper with it.

"I don't know," said her mother. "How could you try it, Joe?"

"I didn't mean to," said Joel, looking very downcast and ashamed. "The ugly old pen did it!"

"Well," said Polly, "it's got to go; we can't help it." But she looked so sorrowful over it that half the pleasure was gone for Ben; for Polly wanted everything just right, and was very particular about things.

"Now, Dave." Ben held his hand, and "David" went down next to Joel.

But when it was Phronsie's turn, she protested that Polly, and no one else, must hold her hand.

"It's a dreadful hard name to write—Phronsie is," said Polly, as she guided Phronsie's fat little hand that clung faithfully to the stubby old pen. "There, it's over now," she cried; "and I'm thankful! I wouldn't write another for anything!"

"Read it all over now, Ben," cried Mrs. Pepper, "and don't speak, children, till he gets through."

"Don't it sound elegant!" said Polly, clasping her hands, when he had finished. "I didn't think we ever could do it so nice, did you, Ben?"

"No, indeed, I didn't," replied Ben, in a highly ecstatic frame of mind. "Now—oh! what'll we do for an envelope?" he asked in dismay.

"You'll have to do without that," said Mrs. Pepper, "for there isn't any in the house—but see here, children," she added, as she saw the sorry faces before her—"you just fold up the letter, and put it inside the parcel; that'll be just as good."

"Oh dear," said Polly; "but it would have been splendid the other way, mammy—just like other folks!"

"You must make believe this is like other folks," said Mrs. Pepper, cheerily, "when you can't do any other way."

"Yes," said Ben, "that's so, Polly; tie 'em up quick's you can, and I'll take 'em over to Deacon Blodgett's, for he's goin' to start early in the morning."

So after another last look all around, Polly put the cakes in the paper, and tied it with four or five strong knots, to avoid all danger of its undoing.

"He never'll untie it, Polly," said Ben; "that's just like a girl's knots!"

"Why didn't you tie it then?" said Polly; "I'm sure it's as good as a boy's knots, and they always muss up a parcel so." And she gave a loving, approving little pat to the top of the package, which, despite its multitude of knots, was certainly very neat indeed.

Ben, grasping the pen again, "here goes for the direction.

"Deary, yes!" said Polly. "I forgot all about that; I thought 'twas done."

"How'd you s'pose he'd get it?" asked Ben, coolly beginning the "M."

"I don't know," replied Polly, looking over his shoulder; "s'pose anybody else had eaten 'em up, Ben!" And she turned pale at the very thought.

"There," said Ben, at last, after a good many flourishes, "now 'tis done! you can't think of another thing to do to it, Polly!"

"Mamsie, see!" cried Polly, running with it to Mrs. Pepper, "isn't that fine! 'Mr. Jasper E. King, at the Hotel Hingham."

"Yes," said Mrs. Pepper, admiringly, to the content of all the children, "I should think it was!"

"Let me take it in my hand," screamed Joel, reaching eagerly up for the tempting brown parcel.

"Be careful then, Joe," said Polly, with an important air. So Joel took a comfortable feel, and then Davie must have the same privilege. At last it was off, and with intense satisfaction the children watched Ben disappear with it down the long hill to Deacon Blodgett's.

The next day Ben came running in from his work at the deacon's.

"Oh, Polly, you had 'em!" he screamed, all out of breath. "You had 'em!"

"Had what?" asked Polly in astonishment. "Oh, Bensie, what do you mean?"

"Your flowers," he panted. "You sent some flowers to Jasper."

"Flowers to Jasper!" repeated Polly, afraid Ben had gone out of his wits.

"Yes," said Ben; "I'll begin at the beginning. You see, Polly, when I went down this morning, Betsey was to set me to work. Deacon Blodgett and Mrs. Blodgett had started early, you know; and while I was a-cleanin' up the woodshed, as she told me, all of a sudden she said, as she stood in the door looking on, 'Oh, Ben, Mis' Blodgett took some posies along with your parcel.' 'What?' said I; I didn't know as I'd heard straight. 'Posies, I said,' says Betsey; 'beautiful ones they were, too, the best in the garding. I heard her tell Mr. Blodgett it would be a pity if that sick boy couldn't have some flowers, and she knew the Pepper children were crazy about 'em, so she twisted 'em in the string around the parcel, and there they stood up and looked fine, I tell you, as they drove away.' So, Polly!"

"Bensie Pepper!" cried Polly, taking hold of his jacket, and spinning him round, "I told you so! I told you so!"

"I know you did," said Ben, as she gave him a parting whirl, "an' I wish you'd say so about other things, Polly, if you can get 'em so easy."



JOLLY DAYS

"Oh Ben," cried Jasper, overtaking him by a smart run as he was turning in at the little brown gate one morning three days after, "do wait."

"Halloa!" cried Ben, turning around, and setting down his load—a bag of salt and a basket of potatoes—and viewing Jasper and Prince with great satisfaction.